


A Ghost of Good Intentions

by Loquatorious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Needs a Hug, Harry goes back in time story with a twist, Hermione POV, One Shot, Short One Shot, time-travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26014120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loquatorious/pseuds/Loquatorious
Summary: We all know the story, we all know how it goes. However, a life is never lived by just one person, and pain is never easy to conceal from someone who knows you better than yourself. So when Harry wakes up from an episode... different than usual, Hermione makes it her mission to get to the bottom of it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 46
Kudos: 398
Collections: flash harmony stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a short drabble for the Harmony discord, playing with a common HP Fanfic trope, but it eventually grew to be too big, so I decided to develop it into a brief one-short and post it here.

“Harry, how many times have I told you?” Hermione huffed from her side of the burgundy sofa, “You need to actually study to get good marks.”

“I can study all I like, Hermione, it won’t make a difference.”

“It _will_ , I promise you.”

“Tell that to Snape,” Harry growled, his hands gripping the sides of his book until his knuckles whitened. “He wouldn’t give me a good mark if I brewed a Draught of the Living Dead that could put the sun to sleep.”

“But still, Snape won’t be examining you, it’ll be someone completely different.”

“No, but it is him who’s refusing to teach me the right things. He just writes the instructions on the board and then waits for me to mess up. That’s what he does to everyone who isn’t a Slytherin. Just ask Neville.”

Hermione sighed, her hands wrestling in her lap. As much as she cared about Harry, perhaps more than anyone else in her life who wasn’t family, even she had to admit he was an infuriatingly stubborn individual. Every time she tried to prompt him into striving just a little further in his studies, he’d put on the brakes and dig his heels in. Suddenly he was happy to just be above average when Hermione knew he had the potential to rival even her. If only he’d push himself a bit more.

“Well, why don’t we practise in our free time, then?” she offered. “We could easily ask the Room to make us a potions lab and we can go over what we’ve learned, together.”

“Hermione,” Harry sighed as he closed his potions textbook and let it slide into his bag, “as much as spending time with you is always a joy, I really don’t want to have to ration all of my free time to studying. I want a life, you know. I’ve missed that feeling, having a life.”

“Fine then,” Hermione frowned. “If you’re not willing to put in what it takes then so be it.”

“I’m putting in a _hell_ of a lot at the moment. I’m teaching a class-load of students every week, in case you forgot, which I doubt considering _you_ talked me into it.”

“But I just think you could do _more_. Imagine if you put that kind of effort into the rest of your subjects. You’d be amazing.”

“I’d be dead.” Harry stood from the sofa and began his walk to the staircase. “Besides, it’s not like Herbology is going to help me protect myself against—“

It happened without warning. 

Every muscle in his body collapsed. Harry fell to the floor like a puppet cut from its strings. Hermione’s eyes widened, her heart jumping out of her chest. She leapt from the sofa with nary a moment’s thought.

“Harry?!” she cried, falling to her knees beside his limp body. “Harry, are you alright?!” She shook him lightly, only for his limbs to lull around. “Harry?!” 

She held her hand in front of his mouth, hoping to feel his breath. Her fingers sought his neck, trying to press for a pulse. Both times, she felt nothing. His eyes were staring outwards, shining like mirrors, with nothing behind them. It was as if his body had been switched off. Like he had just… stopped.

“No,” Hermione choked. “No, no, no...” Frantically, she put both palms on his chest and began pushing rhythmically, as hard as she could. “Come on, Harry, please.” 

Again and again, she pushed down on his chest, just as she had read to do in her first aid books at the scouts. Reaching down, pinching his nose, Hermione put her lips to his mouth and breathed as hard as she could into his lungs. She reared and continued pressing against his torso.

“Don't you dare give up on me!” 

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. And so it went for minutes on end, until her wrists arched and her palms reddened and her head spun from the exertion. Every so often, every few sets, she would reach down and blow into his mouth, checking his pulse. Still nothing. No response, not even a whisper of air from his mouth, not an echo of a pulse in his veins.

The initial wave of shock was passing now. A slow, creepy sense of dread was crawling up her spine. The reality of the situation was crashing down on her, crushing her. But still, Hermione carried on, refusing to believe it. She couldn't give up. She couldn't just let him go.

The body lay unmoving. His arms were loosely sprawled around him, his fingers perfectly still. His eyes - once bursting with mischief, remorse, glee, anger, kindness - were gazing upwards but seeing nothing. Hermione carefully took two fingers and closed them. He almost looked asleep now, perfectly at peace. She could pretend for a moment that all was fine, that he was resting. What she wouldn't give for that to be so...

Harry was dead. He had just died. He…

Before Hermione knew it, she was crying.

“Harry... please wake up...” she bawled. No other options left, she slowly leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and bringing his body closer. Burying him in her jumper, shielding him from the world, she began to rock back and forth. “Please, Harry… Please don't leave me...”

She was speaking to no one now, Hermione knew that. Some rational part of her brain that still worked, that as telling her to let him go, to go to Madam Pomfrey right away and tell her the news. The awful, awful news that made her inside burns and her heart crack like an egg. 

_Harry's dead... Harry's dead..._

It felt wrong to even think about it. It felt like a lie

Harry shouldn't have gone like this. He didn't deserve this. Not _her_ Harry, the one who cared so much about the innocent. Her sweet, kind Harry, who would never know how much she cared. She never took the time to let him know how much she appreciated him. All those times Hermione had badgered him, all those times they’d talked and yet he had died never knowing that he was loved. How she loved him, more than he ever realised - more than _she_ ever realised.

_I love him... I love you, Harry... Please come back... Please wake up..._

A loud gasp erupted from below her. Hermione jumped. She looked down and saw Harry with his eyes wide, his mouth wide open and drawing in shallow, ragged breaths. He looked terrified. 

“Harry!” she cried, releasing him from her embrace, holding him upright. “It’s okay, Harry. It’s okay. Just breathe, I’ve got you.” Eventually, he calmed, wilting into her shoulder. Hermione caught him, allowing him to rest in her arms until his breathing steadied. “It’s okay.”

Hermione felt his hand tentatively grip the fabric of her jumper, rubbing it between his fingers. He shifted slightly, turning his head as he glanced up at her, squinting at her.

“H… Mione?” he breathed.

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “Yes, it’s me. Harry, are you alright?”

She watched his eyes flicker around the room, taking in every detail as the uncertainty was replaced with dawning recognition.

“Yes, I think-”

He paused, his brow furrowed. 

“Yes…” He repeated, as if in astonishment at his own voice. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, just… Must be more tired than I thought. What were we talking about?”

“Harry, listen to me. You have to go see Madam Pomfrey right away.”

“No, nonsense,” he waved away. “I only fainted. That’s all. Must have stood up too quickly. You know how it is, being tall and all. Well, maybe you don’t. Actually, you never… I’ll be fine. I promise.”

And then he reached up, cupping her cheek and stroking it softly with his thumb. Hermione froze. It felt like pure electricity radiated through the tips of his fingers, causing heat to rise in her cheeks. The intimacy of it, so quick and yet so natural, like a reflex he had performed a thousand times. And the way he looked at her wasn’t like he usually did, the typical hint of fondness mixed with familiarity. This was something else entirely.

Realising too late what he was doing, like a habit he was trying to curb, he removed his hand, his own face flushing in turn. 

“Sorry,” he apologised quickly. “Sorry… What time is it again?”

“Quarter-to-twelve,” Hermione squeaked as she attempted to regain some composure. “I think.” 

His eyes searched past her to the open window, to the bright, blue sky outside, quickly deducing that it was, in fact, coming up on midday. 

“Right,” he nodded. “I think I need a lie-down.”

He stood up, swaying slightly on his feet, his hands out like a trapeze artist on a tightrope. He took his first few tentative steps forward, like a stranger in his own body, Hermione thought to herself. Finally, his stride evened and Hermione immediately noticed the difference. His posture was far more composed, his back straight, his shoulders broad, his pace slow but purposeful. Overall, he stood several inches taller than usual, and the effect was staggering. He looked like a completely different person, almost, one unburdened by years of neglect, but there was something else. Even his eyes looked different. They used to sparkle. Now they glinted.

“Harry,” Hermione asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly despite herself, “are you sure you’re alright? And please don’t lie to me.”

Harry glanced back at her, and the calculating demeanour was gone, replaced with warmth and care that made her knees weak.

“Of course, I’m alright.”

And with that, he smiled and Hermione couldn’t help but smile back. _Tell him_ , she screamed to herself. _Tell him now_. But of course, she didn’t. She couldn’t. Even after nearly losing him, she couldn’t drum up the courage to admit what he truly meant to her. 

Harry turned and made his way up to the boy’s dormitories, leaving Hermione to wonder what on Earth just happened to her best friend - and, subsequently, what on Earth to do about her own confused state. 

* * *

Something was wrong with Harry.

Well, in fairness, maybe wrong wasn’t the correct word. Harry wasn’t doing anything overtly detrimental to his health, nor was he showing signs of being sick. He just wasn’t his usual self anymore, and perhaps that was far more disconcerting than any regular illness. 

It turned out the changes in her best friend didn't stop with his posture - albeit his newfound gait was undoubtedly symptomatic. The new body language that Harry had adopted had stuck. He walked taller, faster, with purpose. Slowly he evolved from walking past people in the corridors to walking through them until soon _they_ would commonly move for _him_. And Harry hardly _noticed._ In fact, he rarely paid attention to anyone other his immediate friend circle anymore. Not even Malfoy or Umbridge could get much more than a bored expression from him, no matter how hard they tried, and they did try. Even their best attempts to get a rise from him were met with a wall of indifference.

The rest of the time he was jovial, confident and overall far more enthused than he used to be. Hermione saw it most clearly in the DA meetings. Whereas Harry used to struggle to project himself in the past, relying on the group to pay attention to him, now he effortlessly commanded the room like a conductor in an orchestra.

To anyone else, these changes were negligible, but to someone like Hermione - someone who knew Harry better than he knew himself - the transformation was staggering. He was like a completely new person, and yet at the core, he was still her Harry. She recognised those eyes, coloured with the same pine-green that reminded her of winter. However, something was just _off,_ Hermione could tell _._ They didn't _look_ different but they certainly _looked_ differently.

The Harry she knew- Rather, Harry as he normally was had this tired look to him, like he had been inured to the pain that had seeped into his bones. Not accepting, just too worn out to fight back. This Harry, this new version of her friend… Whenever they spoke - or even when he noticed her staring at him out of the corner of her eye - he looked fine. He looked better than fine, in fact. He appeared composed, he was calm, and he acted secure in himself. It was when he thought no one could see him that the mask came down. Hermione had only caught it a couple of times, but she had never forgotten. He looked like he was ready to burst into tears at any moment. 

That wasn’t all. The way Harry approached _her_ , the slight touches, the nudges, the smiles he sent her way. He wasn’t just looking at her, he was marvelling her like a priceless artwork. He was cherishing her. She could only describe his stares as adoring, _loving_ even. It was enough to render her speechless, unsure of how to respond to that level of affection.

It honestly reminded her of her parents, the subtle glances and touches that spoke of so many years of marriage. But that was ridiculous. She and Harry weren’t married. They weren’t even dating, no matter how much she revelled in the idea.

He was hiding something, Hermione knew it. The question was what?

She had checked the Marauder’s Map multiple times, and he still read as ‘Harry Potter’. She knew it couldn’t be the _Imperius_ curse, Harry was far too prescient for that to work. Was it a concussion? No, it couldn't be because Hermione had marched him over to Madam Pomfrey’s the very next day and even the matron couldn’t find anything wrong. So what was it? Why was Harry acting so differently?

It all came to a head a month after the incident. Harry had disappeared again, as he occasionally did every so often. No one knew where or why - no-one had bothered to investigate - except Hermione. Using the Marauder’s Map, she had managed to pinpoint the only place Harry could be, the Room of the Requirement - the only room in the castle to not show up on the map. 

She made her way up to the seventh-floor corridor and commanded the room to let her in. 'Show me where Harry's been hiding,' she dictated in her head. 'Show me where Harry's been hiding.' As soon as a door had presented itself, Hermione marched inside. And what met her was enough to make her pause in her step. 

All around her, living the walls and circling the expansive chamber, were wooden dummies, the same that they used for DA practice. The line of target naturally led her eyes to the raging inferno of fire and light waiting for her in the middle of the room. Her hands quickly flew upwards to shield her face. She squinted, trying to get a better look at just hat was causing this display. She took a step forward, fighting the winds that threatened to push her off of her feet, only for a flare of pure energy to tear past her, just barely missing her. Another flare fired off to her other side, cutting a particularly tricky target clean in half. It left a scorch mark on the wall behind her, searing the stone like a blowtorch against wood.

Hermione immediately raised a shield, pushing forward against the power that pulsed from the epicentre. As she fought closer, Hermione could just make out, in the midst of it, a person, moving with the speed and grace of a dancer. He - for it was undoubtedly a _he_ \- commanded the destruction as if it were a part of him. The shapes of the inferno moved in tandem with his limbs, bending and lashing out to his whim. Everything that found itself in his path was torn to ashes. 

The final spell was cast, the final dummy collapsed into pieces, revealing none other than Harry a the centre, gleaming with exhaustion. A stunned silence settled and in the few moments before Harry turned around, Hermione thought of running away. That was until she saw his face, and brown met green, and she was transfixed to the spot.

Their eyes widened in turn. Neither spoke for a while, merely taking each other in. Hermione could only stare at him, not sure whether she was more awed or horrified at what her friend had just performed. This was so far beyond anything that Harry could do before. 

“H-Hermione?” he gasped, his brow furrowed. “What are you—”

He glanced around, realising what she had seen, the evidence of the carnage he had just wrought. Hermione could read in his face that whatever game he had been playing up until now had just had its table unceremoniously flipped. By the time his eyes met hers again, her wand was ready. 

“Who are you?” she growled. “Tell me, right now!”

“Hermione, it’s me,” he replied, putting his hands high above his head. “It’s Harry, I promise.”

“Don't lie to me. Don't you dare use his name-”

“I'd never lie to you! I never have and I never will!”

“Prove it! Tell me something only Harry would know! Now!”

Harry - the one who looked so much like her Harry, and yet so alien - nodded.

“Our first year,” he began after some deliberation. “The potions room, the final room before the Philosopher’s Stone, and only one of us could go through. One of the things you said to me, you told me how there were more important things than books and cleverness. Like friendship and bravery and…”

“And what else,” Hermione prompted. “What else was there?”

“There wasn’t,” he replied. “That’s all you said.”

“What _would_ I have said?” 

Harry paused, frowning. 

“I… I don’t know.”

Of course, he wouldn't, would he? Harry could never see anything so simple, not when it came to him.

Seemingly satisfied, Hermione pocketed her wand. Summoning whatever courage she had left, she took a pace closer.

“Harry,” she whispered, taking a good, long look at him. “What’s happened to you?”

“Nothing good,” he replied, trying and failing to smile. 

Those sad eyes again, calling out for any kind of affection. It was a call that Hermione answered despite herself. Hesitantly, she reached up, cupping his cheek in the same way he had a month before. The moment their skin touched, his eyes fluttered closed. He leaned into her palm, his free hand coming up to rest lightly against her’s. He clung to her, like a man starved of her touch. A couple of silent tears trailed down his face, whether in happiness or the most profound sadness Hermione couldn’t tell.

As for her, she couldn’t help but give in to the sensation. It was like falling into a habit of her own design, a footprint left in the years that lay ahead of her, yet unmistakably her’s. Steps that she had yet to take, but this person in front of her knew them like second nature.

“You’re not my Harry, are you?” she eventually asked. Harry’s eyes opened, fearful, expecting reluctance and yet seeing only her kind smile. 

“No, I…” He choked on his own words. “I’m… this is going to sound ridiculous, but it’s true. All of it.”

“No more ridiculous than magic,” Hermione shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. She was rewarded with a small smile for her efforts, only for his face to turn serious once again.

“I’m not the Harry you know,” he admitted. “I’m from the future.”

Hermione stared at him, her face set in a moment of bemused shock. Realising he was earnest, she blinked.

“Oh.” She would usually have a far more sophisticated response but this? Hermione thought she had prepared herself for the worst, but _this_? Hermione was simply stumped. Time travel- well, she herself had time-travelled before, granted - but not like _this_. “Does that mean… How _old_ are you? How far did you travel back?”

“17. I was only 17 when I came back,” Harry quickly explained. “Maybe 18 at a push but I’m not sure. It all happened so fast.”

Hermione breathed, trying to take it all in. A 17— maybe 18-year-old Harry in a 15-year-old’s body. Somehow, only his consciousness had been sent back in time. _How_ that was possible, Hermione didn’t even attempt to ponder. It had to have happened that day Harry fainted, in those few moments when Harry simply ceased to be. That must have been the transitioning point between the old and the new. What else could it have been?

“So the Harry I know… is he gone?”

“No,” he quickly replied, “not really. When I came back, when I fainted, the two of us… we kind of merged into one person. I am _your_ Harry, the one you grew up with, but with a bunch of new memories. I’m me but with… _more_ , if you can wrap your head around that.”

Maybe in a few days she could, but for now, Hermione had more important questions.

“What happened? Why do this?” 

“Where I come from Voldemort’s dead,” Harry explained. “I killed him. There was a war, and I fought in it. And you fought with me every step of the way. But I was careless.” His eyes fell to the stone floor, his face losing colour by the second. “I lost… too many good people who I could have saved. I came back to make amends, to do better.”

“Who did you lose?”

Harry shook his head desperately.

“Dumbledore. Sirius. Lupin. Tonks. Fred. Colin…. and….”

By now, his face was streaked with tears, his hands were shaking. He was barely keeping it together.

“Who else? … Harry?”

At last, he looked up at her, his eyes raw and angry. Hermione could feel her heart cracking in her chest. The amount of pain so written so clearly in his features. What had he seen? How much had he had suffered in a but a few short years?

“It doesn’t matter, because now I can save them,” he insisted, trying to push through the pain. “I can save all of them. I know what to do this time, and I can put things right. I won’t make the same mistakes again. I won’t…”

“Harry…” Hermione whispered, cupping his face once again, forcing him to look at her.

“I won’t…” He cried and the floodgates were torn wide open. “I can’t lose you again...”

It all snapped into place. It was _her_. She was the final straw, the loss that made Harry desperate enough to throw himself back into war. She was the pain that made all other pain so minuscule in comparison. The reason why he couldn’t help but stare at her with barely concealed adoration. Why Harry had been so willing to give in to her touch.

“How much did I mean to you in your time?” She had to ask. She had to know for certain. “Did we love each other?”

“I did, but I never _knew_ until…” Until it was too late, Hermione realised. And the pain had made him sure, just like with her. “I never told her. I never had the chance.”

“Tell me what I would have said, Harry,” Hermione smiled, wiping away his tears. “All those years ago, in the potions room.”

“I don’t know,” he replied, but Hermione nodded.

“Yes, you do. I know you do. Friendship, bravery and…”

His eye widened a fraction before they flooded once again—this time with what Hermione clearly see was relief.

“Love...”

She nodded and with that Harry finally allowed himself to bawl. Hermione pulled him into her embrace, planting a soft kiss on his opposite cheek, stroking the other as she did.

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered into his ear, so softly that he was the only person in the world that could possibly hear her. “Just like how your Hermione loved you. How she and I will always love you because we always have.”

And with that, his legs gave way. He collapsed to his knees. He was sobbing now, unable to contain himself any longer. The one that had fought for far too long and had seen too much, finally coming home.

“I love you too. Oh, god, I love you,” Harry gasped, clinging on for dear life. “Please don’t leave me,” he begged. “Please don’t leave me.”

Hermione kissed him once again, right on his crown, holding him just as tightly.

“Never, Harry. I promise.”

And Hermione knew she meant it. For Harry’s sake and for the Hermione that she was sure would have promised the exact same.


	2. Chapter 2

“Harry, how many times have I told you?” Hermione huffed from her side of the burgundy sofa, “You need to actually study to get good marks.”

“I can study all I like, Hermione, it won’t make a difference.”

“It will, I promise you.”

“Tell that to Snape,” Harry growled, his hands gripping the sides of his book until his knuckles whitened. “He wouldn’t give me a good mark if I brewed a Draught of the Living Dead that could put the sun to sleep.”

“But still, Snape won’t be examining you, it’ll be someone completely different.”

“No, but it is him who’s refusing to teach me the right things. He just writes the instructions on the board and then waits for me to mess up. That’s what he does to everyone who isn’t a Slytherin. Just ask Neville.”

Hermione sighed, her hands wrestling in her lap. Harry cringed at the sound. He knew exactly what it meant, what Hermione thought of him, She hated how stubborn he could be, how he never tried as hard as she did, or even as hard as he could. But he was tired, so very tired of everything and everyone nowadays He felt like he was being attacked from all sides, and now Hermione was joining in. Well, not joining in but compounding on that feeling. Harry knew she meant no harm, she only wanted the best for him, always. That’s why he liked her so much. That’s how he knew he could trust her.

“Well, why don’t we practise in our free time, then?” she offered. “We could easily ask the Room to make us a potions lab and we can go over what we’ve learned, together.”

“Hermione,” Harry sighed as he closed his potions textbook and let it slide into his bag, “as much as spending time with you is always a joy, I really don’t want to have to ration all of my free time to studying. I want a life, you know. I’ve missed that feeling, having a life.”

“Fine then,” Hermione frowned. “If you’re not willing to put in what it takes then so be it.”

“I’m putting in a hell of a lot at the moment. I’m teaching a class-load of students every week, in case you forgot, which I doubt considering you talked me into it.”

“But I just think you could do more. Imagine if you put that kind of effort into the rest of your subjects. You’d be amazing.”

“I’d be dead.” Harry stood from the sofa and began his walk to the staircase. “Besides, it’s not like Herbology is going to help me protect myself against—“

It happened without warning. 

All feeling left him. Harry’s world went blank and he could feel his limbs give way. He was gone before he hit the ground.

* * *

When he came to, he found himself in a world of pure light. Even in the smallest crevices of this world’s unique architecture, there wasn’t a hint of shadow. There were shapes, there was light and little else. Harry couldn’t tell where his skin ended and the air began. He wasn’t even sure if he had skin. Or feet. Or even a body. He felt like he was swimming without water, floating weightlessly in a world so unlike where he just was.

And he wasn’t alone.

Harry felt this stranger’s presence before he saw him. He could almost compare it to an echo, or a footprint. Or a mirror.

“Hello,” it spoke, in his voice, from his mouth, staring at him from eyes that looked so much like his but somehow different.

“Who are you?” Harry asked, unsure of what else to say. The stranger smiled.

“I’d thought that would be obvious.” He glided closer, reaching out with two hands. “Now hold still, this won’t take a second.”

“What are you doing?” Harry backed away, surprised at how well he could control himself in this new place. The other him, the Other Harry, frowned.

“As I said,” he replied, “this won’t take a second.”

“No, tell me who you are,” Harry insisted. The Other Harry looked at him, almost confused. He wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t expecting Harry to be so reluctant. Why? Who was this person? “Is this a trick? Is this another vision or something? Are you Tom Riddle?”

The Other Harry scoffed.

“No, Harry,” he spoke like a parent would to a small child. “I’m not _him_. I’m _you_.”

It certainly looked like him, but at the same time, it looked nothing like him. His face was long and thinner. His hair was somehow more unkempt. His eyes burned with something that set his hairs on end. He looked dangerous. 

“But you…” Harry stuttered, trying to piece it all together. “How…”

The Other Harry didn’t answer. Instead, his only response to raise his hands once again, until they were level with Harry’s temples.

“Now, I’m just going to do something. It won’t hurt.”

“What won’t?” the Other Harry ignored him, advancing closer. Alarmed, Harry swerved, dodging around him. “No, stop, tell me.”

“It’ll take too much time,” the Other Harry glared, his patience clearly run thin.

“Then make it fast. Tell me!”

The Other Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’m from the future,” he spoke plainly. “I’ve been sent back in time, or at least my consciousness has.”

“Rubbish,” Harry scoffed, to which the Other Harry shrugged.

“It’s true.”

“No way.”

“Harry, you know time travel is possible. You know memories can be stored, given a life of their own.”

Harry certainly knew that could be done, the damage it could wreak, the pain it had caused.

“Is that what you’ve done then? Just like Riddle did?”

“No!” the Other Harry protested. He paused, taking a moment to collect himself. “No, I… It’s not like that-“

“How? What were you going to do to me?” Harry asked before he stopped. Another question, one far more important popped into his head. “How far did you travel?”

“I come from a time ravaged by war,” the Other Harry explained. “People I love have been lost to it. I’m here to make it right.”

“Like who?”

The Other Harry sighed, frowning in such a way that made him look so much older.

“Sirius. Dumbledore. Dobby. Remus. Tonks. Fred. Seamus. Lavender. Padma. Mad-Eye. Ron. Even Hermione.” With every name that he spoke, Harry’s heart plunged deeper into his stomach. All those people, ones for whom he loved like family, where they to be lost? Was that the future that awaited him, too? “But you don’t have to worry about that. I’m here to make sure that never happens. I know what to do now. It’s going to work.”

It still sounded terrifying, whatever this person wanted to do to him. He still felt unsure being in this place, strangely uncomfortable in a world without feeling, but now, compared to the loss of his loved ones… Could it possibly be worse than that?

“What were you going to do to me?” Harry asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer, but steeling himself hear it. The Other Harry nodded sagely.

“I’m going to give you my memories,” the Other Harry explained. “Once I’m done, my life will be yours. Every moment I’ve ever lived, until now, will belong to you. So, when the time comes, you won’t make the same mistakes I did.”

“So…” Harry’s stomach turned, “you’re replacing me?”

“No,” the Other Harry frowned as if it were plainly clear. “No, I’m giving you my memories.”

“Everything you’ve ever done, right? If you really are me, how will I tell the difference between my memories and your’s?”

“You won’t have to. You and I, we… we’ll sort of merge. We’ll be one and the same, with you as the blueprint.”

“But you _are_ me,” Harry pointed out.

By this point, the Other Harry was staring intently at him, sizing him up. Eventually, he sighed and advanced towards him.

“Just come here and let me do this.”

“No!”

“Come here!” the Other Harry growled.

“No!” Harry shouted back, backing away as fast as he could. “No, I won’t let you-“

“Look at me, this is the only way we can save them. I _will_ save them all this time and unless you let me do this right now-“

Harry stopped in his tracks, replaying what he had just heard.

 _“‘This_ time’?” he repeated. The Other Harry froze, his eyes widening as if only now realising what he had said. “What do you mean ‘this time’? How many times have you done this?”

The Other Harry shook his head, his hands fidgeting nervously.

“That doesn’t matter.” He raised his hands once again, but this time he appeared far less sure of himself. “It won’t hurt, I promise. It’ll just take a moment.”

“How many?” Harry repeated, stopping the Other Harry in his tracks. The echo looked down, his hands lowering to his sides and shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

Harry stared at him in horror.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I lost count,” The Other Harry replied honestly. “Could be a dozen or a hundred or a thousand… I don’t know.”

It was all Harry could do but look at him, up and down his body, to his own gaunt face. He could hardly believe what he just heard. And the more he thought about it, the sicker he was becoming.

“Why? How could you…”

“Harry, look at me,” the Other Harry stared at him, pleading with him. “This will work.”

Suddenly, a tidal wave of hate erupted within Harry’s head, cooking inside his head like a volcano.

“If it hasn’t worked a _thousand times_ already,” Harry seethed, “why should it work now?!”

“No, it _can_ work,” the Other Harry insisted. “It _has_ worked-“

“By what measure? Have you ever beaten Voldemort?”

“Yes.” Harry paused, digesting the new information, trying to reconcile it with what he had gathered. The Other Harry continued, “The very first time, I think. I beat him. But I lost so many people, people who I could have saved if I hadn’t been so idle.”

“Like Hermione?” Harry asked, realising that he could very well have been talking about him, at this point in his life. When he refused to listen to his best friend encouraging him to be better. “Have you ever managed to save her?”

“Many times. I couldn’t live without her. And the others too.”

“And you still came back?”

“Yes, I did, because it’s not that simple. I tried to save as many people as I could, but there was always someone I missed. If not Hermione, then Ron. If not Fred then George. If not Dumbledore then Hagrid. But I know it’s possible because I’ve done it before. Everyone I ever cared about. At one point I had them all.”

Harry gaze expectantly at him.

“But?” he said. “You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a catch.”

The Other Harry shook his head tiredly, rubbing his hands together obsessively, like an addict on withdrawal.

“Everyone is precious to someone,” he replied. “For every one person out there, there’s another that can’t live without them. So many people died in the war, because of Riddle. And there I was, all happy and content, with everyone I ever cared about alive and well. I couldn’t live with it. It felt wrong. Why should I be allowed that happiness when it had been denied to so many others? 

“So I tried again. I tried to protect everyone, not just the people I know, but those I never met before. Anyone who had ever lost something because of him. And I tried, I tried to help them. I tried to be happy. But it was never enough.” The Other Harry glanced back at him, his eyes were wide and skittish. “Harry, listen to me. You have to let me do this. You have to let me try again. One more chance. I swear, I’m so close to the perfect run. I know what I’m doing.”

“’The perfect run’,” Harry replied calmly, masking the hatred he had for this… this monster. “What is this a _game_ to you?”

“No,” the Other Harry spat, “no of course not. This is about making up for Riddle’s sins. My own sins. I wasted so much time at Hogwarts, barely pushing myself, just coasting by, even though I knew - I _knew_ \- that one day I’d have to fight. I let all those people suffer. I have to make it right.”

“And how many more tries is that going to take?” Harry cried back. “Another thousand? Two thousand?” His voice shook with disgust. “Oh my god. Are you saying you made all these timelines just to throw them away because you couldn’t get them exactly right?”

The Other Harry rounded on him, staring him down furiously.

“I’m not doing this for me.”

“Sure fooled me!” Harry scoffed. “’ _I_ couldn’t live with myself’; ‘people who _I_ let suffer’; ‘ _my_ sins’. And now you’re going to just throw me away as well to try again and I won’t be last, will I? I don’t think you’re ever going to be satisfied-“

“I will, once everyone is alive and safe I promise I will-“

“Do you know what I’d give to live in a world without Voldemort?” Harry argued. “A world with all my friends and family safe and alive? You had that! You had that and more and you _still_ weren’t happy! I’d _kill_ for a world like that and here you are turning your back on it because it just wasn’t enough for you. Can you even remember what that world was like? Did you ever get married? Did you ever have kids?”

The Other Harry looked at him, about to speak, but no words came out. His throat bobbed, his eyes fell to the floor. Every time he looked like he was about to argue back, the fight left him. Eventually, his body drooped, too tired to continue arguing.

“… I never got that far,” he whispered. “I’ve never been beyond 1998.”

For a moment, Harry stood there, taking it in. 1998, that was but a few years from now. And if he had gone back in time a few thousand times already… If he had never gone back, to begin with…

“God, you could have lived a whole life!” Harry cried in anguish. “You could have lived hundreds of lives!”

The Other Harry had nothing to say. no retort, no justification, no answer. He merely glanced up at Harry, ashamed and remorseful, for the first time in a long time.

“I… “ But no words came. He couldn’t lie, not his own reflection. Especially not one who saw him more clearly than he saw himself, the stranger to his own life that he had become.

“I don’t want this,” Harry whispered desperately. “I don’t want to _be_ this.”

“If we don’t do this,” the Other Harry replied, sounded just as defeated, “people are going to die. Good people.”

And there it was. That was the core of it, what had kept his other self running for so long.

“So, either I lose the people I care about or I lose myself?”

The Other Harry nodded solemnly.

“It’s the only way.”

Maybe it was. If he wanted a perfect world, then yes, this was inevitable. Looking at the man he was now was like looking in a distorted version of the Mirror of Erised. Except this mirror showed not his heart’s desire, but his worst nightmare. He was reminded of Dumbledore’s advice when he first found that ancient relic, words he had never forgotten. _“This mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible… It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.”_

And as he remembered that night more clearly, being so much smaller and looking longingly into the mirror, he remembered something else.

“Our parents,” Harry said, “died to give us a chance to live. I don’t think they’d be very happy with me if I threw it away trying to save everyone else. I’m not going to let you do this. It stops right here, right now.”

“Then what are you going to do now?” the Other Harry replied, looking to him for answers for the first time.

“I’m going to try my best,” Harry said, standing straight, “and whatever happens, good or bad… I’ll just have to do the brave thing and live with it.”

The Other Harry looked at him, before nodding, moving away gracefully.

“If we’re really doing this, then please… please try to save them.”

Harry nodded dutifully.

“I’ll try.”

“And Hermione,” the Other Harry added. He paused, his eyes glistening. “I love her and so do you. You know you do. Please don’t waste time trying to deny it because she loves you too, so much. So much that she will never leave you, no matter what. You need to do right by her. Love her. Please, do that for me.”

Harry stared at his older self, as close to begging as he had ever seen him, moved by the emotion in his voice. Despite all those years of travelling, of jumping from world to world so many times… his love for Hermione still rang true. Not even in the face of eternity did it dwindle, perhaps the one last pure emotion he had left. Harry had to embrace, he had to learn from that, or this might have all been for nothing.

“Of course,” Harry replied.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the Other Harry smiled, the years leaving his face. A twinkling of sparks erupted from the edge of Harry’s vision, and he looked down to find his echo’s body slowly disappearing in a shower of light.

“What’s happening?” Harry asked, concern overwhelming his voice despite all that he had learned about this distorted twin. The Other Harry, however, look nonplussed, pleased even, gazing at the wave of fire that was swallowing him up, reducing his body to nothing.

“Strange…” he whispered softly. “It feels different this time…”

Slowly, peacefully, he faded away. Sparks drifted into the abyss, like leaves on the wind.

A blink later and the world around him disappeared.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and found himself in his body once again. He was lying on a hard, stone floor, his head absorbed in something warm, soft and shaking. He blinked, taking in a deep breath as his lungs began working once again. Slowly but surely, his other senses came to. And that’s when he heard Hermione’s sobs. 

Carefully, he looked up, finding none other than his best friend, her face wet and blushing, contorted in agony. “Harry...” he could hear from above him. His body was being rocked from side to side, his head and shoulder engulfed in her jumper. He could feel her whole body shaking with sobs. “Harry…”

“Hermione,” he spoke softly. 

She jumped, quickly looking down at him in shock. It took a second for her to realise what she was looking at, and Harry saw her eyes flicker from confusion to relief, to joy to exhaustion in the span of a second.

“Harry!” she cried, holding him closer, her arms wrapped around him like snakes. Harry reached up, snaking his arms around her shoulders, pulling himself up into a sitting position to better support her.

“Shh,” he whispered, pulling her sobbing face into his shoulder. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m okay. I promise.”

Her hands clasped the fabric of his jumper so tight that he was afraid it might rip, but he let her. He had no idea what happened in the past few minutes, what he had left behind or for how long.

“You died,” he heard her cry into him. “You died… I thought I’d lost you…”

Harry carefully, lifted her into his lap, rocking her as she did him, smiling reassuringly at her.

“Never,” he whispered. He would never leave her. He had a promise to keep.

* * *

Of course, once the two of them had recovered, Hermione had him checked up by Madam Pomfrey. Surprisingly, being dead for 10 whole minutes had left him with exactly zero side effects, much to everyone’s confusion. It almost made Harry wonder what kind of magic had been involved to make that change happen. Then again, knowing what it eventually lead to, Harry endeavoured to make sure never found out. The less he knew about it, the better.

News quickly spread around the school, only adding to the rumours of him being insane, or possessed. Or lying. Harry couldn’t really find it in him to care. He had so much more to think about than other people. He was so caught up in his thoughts about the past couple of days, that when the next morning came around and Hermione asked what his plan for his date with Cho tomorrow was, he almost spat out his breakfast. 

Cho! He had completely forgotten about her! How could he? He had been anticipating their date for a while now, equal parts dreading and dreaming of it. However, it had only taken a day for that thought to be expelled from his head, lost amidst the chaos of everything else that had happened to him. True, it had been a very eventful day - one that made him question the nature of existence and free will itself - but still, it was a wake-up call.

Looking over at the Ravenclaw table, he noticed Cho had been staring at him, glaring in his general direction. He stared back gormlessly. When her eyes met his, she quickly turned away, back to talking with Marietta Edgecombe. Harry sat there, confused and bewildered as to what she had been staring at, wondering if he had done something wrong. It certainly felt that way. Was she annoyed that he was ignoring her? Surely she’d understand that he wasn’t in the best state of mind, considering how he had been dead not 24 hours before.

Of course, the answer to the riddle was finally revealed on their date, when they had meandered into Madam Puddifoot’s after a while of aimless wandering through Hogsmeade. If the venue’s gaudy Valentine’s day decorations weren’t suffocating enough, the awkward scrabble for conversation certainly didn’t help matters. The conversation was light until Cho decided now was the perfect time to ask what had been on her mind since yesterday.

“So, you and Hermione Granger are good friends.”

Harry glanced up at her, interrupting his sip of hot chocolate. Unsure how to reply, Harry nodded.

“Yeah, we are,” he said. “I’ve known her since first year. She’s really nice. I could introduce you if you want.”

Harry could tell that for some reason that was the wrong answer. 

The date ended fairly quickly after that, as Cho soon mentioned Roger Davies’ interest in her, talking about how she and Cedric used to come to this very cafe, storming out once Harry’s bewilderment became apparent. It took Hermione’s explanation for him to realise what it was all about, and once she did Harry was surprised to find he couldn’t find the will to feel… anything about it.

If Cho wanted to toy with him, to try and underhandedly judge his devotion and test his loyalty, then he wanted nothing to do with it. The Other Harry had mentioned nothing about Cho, so that clearly said how much she really meant in the grand scheme of things. Just the thought of that encounter made him shiver.

“It’s a good thing you’ve been out of sorts recently,” Hermione told him that evening in front of the Common Room fire. “You could probably blame your behaviour on that. If you go to her right now, she might even take you back.”

The thought had occurred to him, of course. Maybe he ought to try getting that relationship back on track. but then again, what awaited him if he did? More awkward dates? More of being compared to Cedric? It just didn’t feel right, being with Cho. He never felt truly comfortable with her. He preferred this, Hermione and him, by themselves, far more than he had his time with Cho. Just sitting in the firelight, talking through their day… with Hermione.

“No,” Harry eventually decided. Hermione looked at him, confused.

“Wh- What?”

Harry shrugged, picking at the carpet between them.

“Cho… she’s nice, she’s pretty but I don’t think she’s over Cedric. I don’t think she will be for a while.”

“Don’t count yourself out just yet,” Hermione reassured him, placing her hand on top of his restless fingers. “I think she wants to be with you, she just feels guilty for wanting it.”

Feeling her hand resting so naturally over his, so different than the anxious reluctance that he had with Cho in Madam Puddifoot’s was startling. And as Harry turned his palm over, allowing Hermione’s fingers to intertwine with his, like they were made for him, he came to a realisation.

“But I don’t,” he finally replied.

“You don’t?” Hermione asked. “But… you’ve had a crush on her since third year, Harry.”

“Maybe,” Harry frowned, “but what if I like someone else?”

“Like who?” she asked, looking him in the eye. Harry simply stared at her, gently stroking her fingers with his thumb, gazing at her, as if telepathically, she would understand. Hermione smiled before her eyes widened. She turned away from him, her eyes breaking contact. “Harry, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” he replied, shuffling closer. Hermione shook her head, shrinking in on herself.

“Please don’t do this,” she begged softly. “Please don’t just ask me out because you think you don’t have a chance with Cho-“

“Hermione,” Harry called to her, taking her by the arms, “I would never do that to you. Please, believe me. I know this is terrible timing and I know how this looks but this is nothing like that.” He reached a hand out to cup her cheek, gently turning her head so that she was once again looking him in the eye. “I’ve been an idiot. I’ve taken you for granted so many times but only because I couldn’t imagine my life without you. I need you, Hermione. I want to be with you. I know you do, too.”

Resisting every urge in his body to turn away and leave the room in a nervous hurry, Harry stood his ground, not looking away in case Hermione should see it as him not being honest with her. He couldn’t bear for her to think that he didn’t like her in the way that he truly did. She needed to know, surely she could see it in his eyes, in how he refused to leave her, even though he was sure his whole body was shaking.

“This isn’t a… a trick?” he heard her quietly ask, to which he smiled.

“No,” he promised as sincerely as she could.

“Because if it is,” she warned, albeit softly and with heavily blushing cheeks, “I will never forgive you, Harry Potter.”

Harry then proceeded to do what he considered the bravest thing he had ever done or will ever do. He leaned forward and gently kissed Hermione on the lips. He felt her body seize up for a moment before she relaxed, her lips tentatively kissing him back. For a first kiss, it was certainly not as practised as it could have been, but he thought it was perfect. His heart was flipping in his chest, screaming jubilantly in his chest. It felt right, in a way that few things ever had before.

They parted eventually to breathe, heaving nervously together, but only just parting.

“You’ll never need to, Hermione Granger,” he smirked, earning him another quick, chaste peck. He chuckled, bringing his arm around her once again. He was glad when he felt her lean into him, evidently not repulsed by him after the kiss. He probably didn’t need to worry considering she had kissed him back, but he was a teenage boy, and teenage boys need all the help they can get when it comes to romance.

Basking in the warmth of the fire, Harry felt the furious beating of his heart slow to a comforting rhythm, seizing almost painfully with affection as he looked down on Hermione’s curled up form resting against his own. 

“Harry?” Hermione asked after a moment of intimate silence, “Why now?”

“Because you’ve always been there for me, even on that day,” Harry replied, tightening his hold on her. “I woke up in your arms, hearing your voice and I realised, if I woke up every day from now on, exactly like that… it’s something I never knew I wanted until now.”

“You really think so?

“Yeah. I mean, I could do without the crying. I hate seeing you cry, but apart from that… yeah, I'd want that.” He felt a shuffle in his side as Hermione burrowing further into him. Harry couldn’t help but smile, welcoming her into his jumper. He could get used to this. He’d cherish this forever. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, how bad it’s going to get. I just know, whatever may come, I want you by my side, always.”

The two sat by the fire until it slowly dimmed to a dull flame, perfectly content, if only for a moment. They could never know when this moment would come again. Best to make the most of it now and let it warm them in the cold nights to come.

 _Whatever happens now,_ Harry reminded himself, _will never come again. Whatever comes, I must face it. Save those I can, remember those I can’t. Love those who matter. Love Hermione._

He fell asleep that night wondering if the Other Harry was finally at peace and hoping that, no matter what, he would never become that spectre of his good intentions.

* * *

Six Years Later

The sunset was particularly beautiful today, and Hermione had ordered them outside to appreciate it. Together, she and Harry had prepared a picnic, packing snacks and sandwiches for the three them to eat on the lawn of their house in Godric Hollow. 

Harry could easily see why. The summer heat had lowered to a soothing warmth, and the sky had exploded into an incredible shade of pinks and oranges. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight and the sun had a way to sink before it disappeared below the horizon. Perfect weather for a fun time with his girlfriend and his godson.

Teddy’s hair had morphed to mirror the sky as Hermione pointed up at it, excitedly showing him the wonder of a sunset like this. Harry smiled as the toddler laughed wondrously, clapping his hands together. He was coming up on four years old now, just starting to come out of his shell and become his own person. He certainly inherited a lot of his personality from his mother in some ways, ever the mischievous and clumsy young boy that he was, however, Hermione told him he often reminded her of himself. Something about the cheeky smirk Teddy wore when he was found out, she said. Harry was happy for the comparison. Better that than what he was actually like as a child.

Teddy would never know how it felt to be abandoned, unwanted, unloved. He refused to let his godson be carted off to an orphanage after both of his parents had died defending Hogwarts three years earlier. He fought tooth and nail for custody of the child, going through rigorous background checks and parenting classes to prepare for being a full-time dad. 

To others it seemed ludicrous, for a man so young to be so eager to become a parent, when most would have used his fame and wealth to travel the world, revel in being a free man with no destiny laid out in front of him. For Harry, however, it couldn’t have been anything else. Teddy needed him and in some ways he needed Teddy. He needed a chance to heal from the war, to make up for the people he couldn’t save. To Teddy’s parents, especially.

The war had taken a toll on everyone. The losses had been widespread. Everyone from every family had lost someone, whether they be a friend, a relative, a child, a parent. Tom Riddle and his band of murderers had torn a scar in the fabric of magical society that would take years to heal. Harry was just glad he had a chance to be a part of that healing process.

Hermione had been there with him, every step of the way. She too had taken to reading up all she could about parenting, custodial law, Metamorphmagi; anything that would help them both raise Teddy. Harry had been surprised at just how quickly Hermione had taken to parenting, but as she had proven time and time again, she was always ready to help him, no matter what. Teddy was her godson too and, considering she and Harry were in it for the long haul, Teddy was inevitably going to be a part of that.

Andromeda had also been a massive help, teaching him all she knew about raising a Metamorphmagi, regaling him about stories of Tonks when she was little. Ever since the loss of her husband, she had taken to regularly visiting them, often multiple times a week, to get to know her grandson, and his godparents, better. Harry initially felt uncomfortable about fostering Teddy, even when Andromeda offered, but she quickly reassured him it was better like this. She was no fit state of mind to raise a child, not after losing her family. Being forced to take on the responsibility of Teddy as well would have been too much.

Harry understood that all too well. There were times when all that came before threatened to swallow him up, days where the past would sink its claws into him and refuse to let him go. He too had a list of the dead - not the long, torturous register that the Other Harry had taken with him, but still too long. Sirius, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, Dobby, Ted Tonks, Nymphadora, Remus, Percy. The weight of that loss held him down some days, made it hard to breathe, but on those days he had Hermione to raise him up once again. Just as she had him on her quest bring back her parents.

Even after all these years, they had stuck by each other, through the thick and thin. Together, they had done the impossible, fought a war that was stacked against them every step of the way. And together, they would fix the wizarding world, in ways big and small.

“Daddy,” Hermione’s voice called to him. He blinked, realising that his thoughts had wandered off with him and he turned back to the scene beside him. Hermione was sitting beside the picnic basket, holding open the lid for Teddy to reach in. “Teddy wants to know if you want your sandwich now?”

“Oh, yes, please,” he replied eagerly with his best smile. Teddy cheered, reaching in for a couple of sandwiches wrapped in paper towels.

“Daddy want jam sammich?” the toddler babbled handing him a sandwich.

“Thanks, buddy!” He gratefully took the snack. “And what kind of sandwich does Mummy want?”

Teddy turned towards Hermione, who beamed down at him.

“I think I would like a marmalade sandwich, please,” she replied. Teddy nodded knowingly, reaching into the hamper and giving her another sandwich. “Thank you, Teddy. That last one is your sandwich, I think. After you’ve finished that you can have your snack.”

“Make sure to drink all your water, as well,” Harry reminded him. “Alright, bud?”

“Yes, daddy,” Teddy grinned, ripping off the paper and digging into his sandwich. 

Harry smiled, watching as the toddler tore into his food, glad that he had made him wear his dirty dungarees as small crumbs of bread and dollops of jam rained down his front. It had taken a while for him get used to Teddy calling him ‘Daddy’. He worried that he was erasing Remus in that regard, however, as Hermione said, it was Teddy’s choice. He was Teddy’s dad, in everything but blood. He would know of his true father and mother, they would never let Teddy grow up without knowing that his parents were heroes. This was nothing to feel guilty over. He loved Teddy like a son. He should never deny that of him for the sake of people who would’ve wanted exactly that.

It helped that he knew, without a doubt, that Hermione loved Teddy like a mother, just as much as he did. She had gone above and beyond to help him raise Teddy. She never once objected to being called ‘Mummy’ or shied away from the duties of a parent. She would always be there with him. 

Six years of love, dedication, perseverance… it had been wonderful. Harry could only hope for so many more.

Later that night, with the last of the dishes washed up from their proper supper, resting on their burgundy sofa in front of the fireplace, Harry finally drummed up the courage to make it so.

“Hermione,” he whispered, rousing her from her book. She turned to him, still as beautiful as she had ever been, to those wise enough to see it.

“Harry,” she replied. “What is it?”

Slowly, with shaking hands, Harry reached into his back pocket, fingers gripping a square velvet box.

“I…”

God, he’d had a plan here. He’d prepared a speech and everything. But now, here he was and he was stuck for words. Eventually, after a pregnant pause, he threw caution to the wind and presented it to her. Her almond eyes widened, the firelight glittering in the corners.

“Marry me,” he said. “I know this isn’t much, and it’s not eloquent but… I can’t wait any longer. I want you forever. I need you. I couldn’t have done this without you and I just—“

And then she’s kissing him with more passion then she’s ever kissed him, except perhaps when she found him alive after the Battle of Hogwarts. Somehow she had vaulted herself into his lap, knees either side of his legs, arms wrapped around his neck. He has just enough prescience to wraps his own arms around her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until they’re both sweltering.

After several heated minutes, Hermione pulled back, her toothy smile shining like the sun.

“Should I consider that a yes?” Harry smirked.

“Consider that about bloody time,” she replied.

He carefully pried the ring out of the box, sliding it delicately onto Hermione’s finger. It was nothing flashy. A silver band with a small, blue gem entrusted in the middle, but for them it was perfect.

“I want to make it official,” he offered, “you and I. I thought maybe then you and I could adopt Teddy, properly.”

“That’s a lovely idea,” she smiled. “Really. Teddy would love it.”

“Would you?” Harry asked, already sure of the answer, but he felt the need to ask anyway.

“Of course I would. Teddy's my son too, you know.”

“Your son, eh? Just remember that the next time he doodles in your notebooks.”

“When he’s a gremlin, he’s your son. You're the one he gets it from, anyway.”

“He’s the sprog of a Marauder, love. He was going to be troublemaker no matter what we did.”

“Yes, well, in that case, the less time he spends with Fred and George the better.”

“God, we can try,” Harry laughed. “You know I caught them trying to make off with him the other day? It's a good thing I checked their briefcase as the door or we'd be a Teddy short.”

“He’s too cute for his own good,” Hermione replied. “ _That_ he gets from you.”

“Oh, hush, woman,” he chuckled, attacking her sides with wriggling fingers and sending her into peals of laughter.

They went to bed not long after, what with work and Teddy demanding an early morning the next day. Hermione’s career at the Department of Welfare of Magical Creatures ate up a lot of her time. That fact made him all the more grateful for times like this when they could spend the whole day with each other as a family. Sure, it was a struggle sometimes to balance work and the stresses of parenthood, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

He was happy. Truly, undeniably happy, despite what he had lost. He could live with the bad times because it made the good times all the more worth it. Better that than to worry about things he couldn’t control. Better to live and to suffer than to never live at all.


End file.
